They paid her after and told her when the next practice would be, and she settled into the role as if she’d been playing with them for years.
As we reach the table and she releases me, I have to admire the high-waist trousers and sheer long-sleeve shirt she’s wearing, only pasties of skulls on her tits beneath.
“I need you to get me some of these,” I say, tapping the bottom of her tit.
“What—the stickers?” She shakes her boobs and grins. “I have a few at the hotel. Text me before practice tomorrow. I’ll bring them. Might get these things pierced on Wednesday. Mads mentioned a moth tat.”
“Where is he putting that?” I ask as I sit across from her.
“I think he has some blank space on his knee,” Bonnie replies, genuine thought crossing her large brown eyes. “Come with us. You could use a new one.”
I raise my brow in agreement. The tattoo shop could also be a great place to get a few photos of them. New ink.
I wonder if I can write it off as a work expense.
“Pierce your tits, too,” she adds.
I laugh. “When is this?”
“Wednesday,” she answers. “Manager said that was the only day press was easy. Our interview is with that one magazine that covers tattoos and musicians.”
“Ah.” I know the one. “Yeah, I could tag along.”
“Hell yes,” Bonnie celebrates. “I’ll ask Zeb to draw something spicy for you.”
“No porn,” I tell her.
“Dammit.”
I bring my drink to my lips and huff amusedly before sitting up so that I’m looking over the balcony. “I’ve always wanted to sit up here,” I say.
“It’s the people watching, right?” Bonnie agrees. “I like to watch and see how many below recognize me.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Eh. Depends on the city we’re in. We go to at least one of these sponsored parties if we’re in town for a few days.”
“I don’t know how you all do it,” I say. “I’m used to being invisible. Being noticed by people would be completely bewildering.”
Bonnie laughs. “It was for me, too. Mads told me to wear a mask like him.”
“It’s the opposite for him, isn’t it?” I ask. “He’s more recognized with the mask.”
“I think that’s why he wears his hair back when he’s alone,” Bonnie replies. “If he’s with us, he kind of has to wear the mask in case the rest of us get recognized.”
“That has to be annoying,” I say.
Bonnie shrugs. “Honestly, we all thought he would stop wearing it after his dad died this past year. You know, less shit looking over his shoulder and whatnot now that he’s not here to throw it at his face. At least out in public with us. I know he loves the mask onstage.”
“Who doesn’t,” I mutter without thinking.
“Certainly adds to his aura,” Bonnie says. “He’s worried about backlash from people finding out who his dad was, I think—”
Whatever Bonnie says next, I don’t hear.
A familiar set of blue eyes is staring at me from the bar down below, and I feel my body go into flight mode.
My stomach is on the floor.
